


Jimmy Page's Primer on Getting What You Want

by acacia59



Series: The How-to Series on Threesomes [3]
Category: Led Zeppelin, The Who
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:12:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acacia59/pseuds/acacia59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jimmy Page gets what he wants. And who he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jimmy Page's Primer on Getting What You Want

**Author's Note:**

> This is the next installment of a series of threesomes that began with Roger Daltrey’s Guide. That fic was the prequel to this stupid little drabble, The Hair. So read The Hair first and then The Guide and then this…go on, I’ll wait. Or you can just skip right to the money shot in this one which is about halfway down. Your choice.

***

 

Jimmy Page was pissed off. He was cold, the crick in his neck hurt like a motherfucker from sleeping on the bloody floor all night…alone, he might add. His clothes were most likely ruined and smelled regrettably like old beer. Some tall, overeager twit had asked him for his autograph…twice, like some airhead fan, and then wanted to talk guitar technique for what seemed like hours while Jimmy was distracted trying to determine where one certain person had ended up. The only consolation was his lack of a hangover, but even that served mostly as a reminder that he had spent the previous night all _too_ sober getting fucked over, all _too_ figuratively, by Robert Plant.

 

 _This is the last time I trust that buffoon as far as I can throw him._ Jimmy didn’t get angry easily, but when he did it was like the slow burn of an underground coal seam fire. He could maintain his rage at a slow simmer for months, unaltered in intensity…until he got revenge that is.

 

The worst part of his current jaw-clenching, gut-churning indignation was that Robert probably had no idea that Jimmy was even upset. The self-centered frontman had gotten what _he_ wanted, after all, who the fuck else did he need to worry about?

 

_Serves me right for offering up a selfless deed. Is it too much to ask to get a little for myself from all my effort?_

 

It had all started innocently enough a few weeks back. There had been no way of knowing that it all wouldn’t have worked out to their mutual benefit. Somewhere along the way, Robert had developed an unshakable obsession with The Who’s curly headed singer. He had shared his latest desperate whim with Jimmy, knowing that Roger Daltrey would not be an easy mark and, if there was anyone with a head for convoluted schemes, it was the dark guitarist. And this plot had been one of his best.

 

Jimmy was the one who had ensured that Clapton had showed up to the party, knowing that he would not be able to resist the siren call of the party’s libations and that Pete would follow where his old reprobate friend led.

 

Pete was the key to the plan and the real genius of it. Jimmy had noted the tension between _those_ two for what it was and filed away the information years ago in case it ever came in handy. He had found that being a magpie with an eye for shiny bits of knowledge rarely backfired. If there was any way Robert could snare Roger, it would be by ensuring that Pete was involved as well.

 

And it was Jimmy who kept Roger’s old woman occupied long enough for the blond to slip off guilt-free. Not entirely objectionable, he supposed, he enjoyed talking with Heather, as far as old girlfriends went. She wasn’t one to hold a grudge or make a scene. That was about when his plan, perfectly executed until then, began to go south.

 

There had been a component of the plan that Robert hadn’t quite agreed with him on. There was something that Jimmy had wanted as well. Something that he had been denied when Robert when off script and started that most dangerous of the curly-headed blond’s indulgences—improvising. Because while Plant was busy ogling his shorter, more masculine doppelgänger in a characteristic fit of unbelievable narcissism, Jimmy had his eye on another member of the opposing band.

 

Jimmy couldn’t deny that his sexual tastes ran a little darker, a little more intense, than the average person’s. He had come to terms with that and refused to feel any shame over it. The problem was finding willing participants in his fantasies, because despite how twisted his preferences were, he had no interest in _that_ particular deviation. He wasn’t interested in anyone whose heart wasn’t in it.

 

He had seen The Who perform. He’d watched them in the studio in his session days but the studio was one thing and the stage was something else entirely. He’d seen whatever force came over Townshend when he was performing and it was raw and it was dangerous and Jimmy wanted a taste. He wanted that primitive virile energy focused on _him_.

 

Jimmy realized he was grinding his teeth and growling under his breath. He carefully forced himself to relax and massaged the knot in his neck. He glanced around at the chaotic debris that had been left scattered throughout Keith Moon’s abandoned living room and wondered how many of the evening’s guests had ended up ensconced in various nooks and crannies of the house. Most of them had likely had a better night than him.

 

He was about to go rummage through the kitchen for something to eat when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. _Oh, look who it is. Speak of the devil, I suppose._ Robert was dressed in somebody’s oversized t-shirt, some low-slung jeans that as usual left little to the imagination and a wide, crooked smile. Seeing his bandmate only made Jimmy seethe more intensely.

 

“You certainly look chipper.” _You great bloody wanker,_ Jimmy conveyed eloquently with his tone. Per usual, it went right over the other man’s head.

 

“Oh, Jimmy, I had the most marvelous night. It went better than ever expected. And I have only you to thank…”

 

Jimmy seized the bigger man by his shirtfront and shoved him violently into the wall. “You unbelievable pillock. Roger was yours, but Pete was supposed to be _mine_. What the hell happened?”

 

Robert gaped at him like a big, blond fish. “But Jimmy! You yourself said that Roger wasn’t going anywhere without Pete…”

 

“Do I have to do everything around here? You could have used your creativity, slipped Roger away in the heat of the moment…bloody hell, I don’t know.” Jimmy pressed the bigger man more firmly against the wall. Some people underestimated the gaunt guitarist’s wiry strength based only on his looks but at least Robert knew better than to struggle against his grip. “People don’t just accidentally stumble into an all-male threesome, for fuck’s sake!”

 

“Ah,” Robert seemed to be thinking. Jimmy could practically hear the grinding. “Well, they should. I had the most fantastic time,” Robert sighed, a bit of a goofy grin crossing his face.

 

“I am utterly ecstatic for you,” Jimmy deadpanned with an icy flatness in his voice.

 

“Oh, come off it, Jim,” Robert cajoled. “Everything is such a big fucking deal with you…”

 

Jimmy could feel the rage building up in him and his face contorted as he shook Robert. Lost in his vehemence was the sound of a door opening and closing and soft footfalls coming down the hall.

 

“Uh…sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt—,” a slightly groggy voice tentatively interjected.

 

Jimmy let go of Robert’s shirt as if it had burned him and whirled around to face The Who’s guitarist, hastily composing his expression into something non-threatening, or at least as close as he could manage. He could _fucking_ feel Robert leering at the two of them from behind him and he resisted the urge to give the immature arsehole a good mule kick backwards right where it counted.

 

While Robert had been as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as some bleeding woodland creature, Pete Townshend looked rather the worse for wear. His dark hair, never the picture of order, stood out from one side of his head in wild abandon and was plastered down to the other side with some fluid that Jimmy was really hoping did not belong to his bandmate. He had dark circles under his eyes and was squinting at the other two men with an expression of extreme embarrassment.

 

“’Ello again, Pete,” Robert said in a husky purr that made Jimmy’s hands twitch imagining them settling around Plant’s throat.

 

Pete went a shade a red that Jimmy hadn’t known human beings could achieve and then moaned and pressed both hands to his face. He watched Pete’s hands, mesmerized, they were long and elegant, sure, but they were also intriguingly workman-like with ragged cuticles and torn fingernails. They were the hands of a man who didn’t care what stood in the way of him and his goal, who had no use for the limitations of pain. Jimmy gulped.

 

“Don’t you just love guitarists’ hands?” Robert whispered into his ear, stirring his hair and making him jump. “What they’ve done to a man, eh?”

 

Jimmy clenched his own hands and growled back, “I think you are about to find out…” when Pete interrupted again.

 

“Umm, do you know where I can find any aspirin around this joint?” He didn’t quite make eye contact with the two men. “And then I’ll just be off…”

 

“ _I_ don’t know where _your drummer_ keeps aspirin. Maybe behind the horse tranquilizers. Did you try the amphetamine drawer?” he snapped.

 

Pete straightened. “Right...I guess I’ll see you around. Later, Robert.” Pete turned to go.

 

“’Ta, Pete. It was lovely,” Robert trilled.

 

“Wait, Pete…” Jimmy called desperately, cursing his foul temper. “I was wondering how you, erm…how you do that—one part in Pinball Wizard.” _Fuck, that was so stupid, he is never going to believe…_

 

“Oh, you mean at the beginning? Or the part at the end? Because I wouldn’t think that you of all people would be wondering about _that_ one.”

 

 _Oh, shit. Like I’ve listened to the godbedamned track. I want to fuck him, not write his biography._ “The end?”

 

“Oh, yeah, well that’s deceptively simple, I just…”

 

“Uh, not here!” he interrupted frantically. “We don’t have our guitars. Why don’t you pop by my place for dinner?”

 

“Ooh, I’d like to come.”

 

Jimmy felt the blood surge behind his eyes. _Fuck you, Percy_.

 

Pete shrugged. “Eh, why the hell not? It’s not like I have anything better to do.” He looked through a few drawers in the kitchen with a desultory sort of disinterest before finding a few white pills in the corner of one behind a pair of stockings and a rubber nose. He examined them closely. “What do you think the chances are that these are aspirin?”

 

Jimmy sighed and grabbed Pete’s hand to look at the pills himself. Their shoulders brushed and Jimmy could feel the heat of the other man through the thin fabric of his shirt. The pills were unmarked except for a small number 5 on one side. "Hmm, I give it fifty-fifty.”

 

Pete frowned down at his hand and pulled away gently from Jimmy’s grasp. “Better not chance it. Well, better see if I can wake ol’ sleeping beauty to give me a ride home.”

 

“Make sure he doesn’t die of embarrassment,” Robert piped up. “I am not quite through with him yet.”

 

Pete colored and mumbled a quick ‘see ya tonight’ to the two men before retreating back down the hall. Jimmy watched him go, appreciating the way his ass looked in the tight trousers.

 

“Careful not to drool there,” Robert said sardonically.

 

“Shut up. Why the hell did you invite yourself along?”

 

“Oh, come off it, Jimmy. Like I was going to miss out on the fun. And besides, you secretly want me there.” Robert cocked his hips in a way that he probably thought was fetching.

 

“No, I really don’t,” he grumbled.

 

Robert leaned over and caught his mouth in a kiss that was at once lazy and familiar. Jimmy responded out of surprise more than anything as Robert plundered his mouth with his tongue and pulled his hips into bruising contact with his own. He pressed deeper into the kiss until Jimmy could barely breathe, breaking away just before he could really get going. Robert trailed intensifying kisses down the side of his neck ending with a nip right at the top of his shoulder that was hard enough to bring tears to his eyes and leave him gasping and painfully hard.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What were you saying?” Robert said, laughter under his breath and in his eyes.

 

“Goddamn you to hell, Plant.” Jimmy panted. “You always get exactly what you want, don’t you?”

 

Robert smiled like the cat that had gotten the cream. “I fail to see the problem with this.”

 

***

 

Jimmy had managed to clear out the house for the occasion, knowing that nothing would stop the shameless libertine, Robert, but thinking that Pete might appreciate the privacy. Especially as Jimmy was hoping to release his inner kinkiness. The staff had been more than eager for the night off but Jimmy had found it difficult to rid the place of the various hanger-ons and random girls that had been dropping by over the course of the day. _Is this my house or a bloody train station?_ he growled to himself as the doorbell rang for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

 

He wrenched the door open, thinking that he should have at least kept someone on to answer the bloody thing when he was greeted by a familiar cheeky grin set under a pile of unruly curls.

 

“Oh, it’s just you,” he said shortly.

 

“Lovely to see you too,” Robert drawled.

 

“Yeah, yeah, just get inside.” He ushered in the other man impatiently. As he passed, Jimmy actually took the time to look at him properly. “What in all the circles of hell are you wearing?” Robert laughed and twirled around like a model. Above the omnipresent skin tight jeans, Robert was wearing a shirt that seemed to be composed primarily of Technicolor scarves. It hurt his eyes just to look at.

 

“It’s _nouveau_ ,” Robert explained.

 

“Oh, is it?” Jimmy said with a raised eyebrow.

 

Robert gave him a light shove and stalked into the living room. “Don’t worry, grouch, it’s also functional.”

 

“Yeah, it functions to make you look like a complete tart,” Jimmy grumbled before trailing Robert.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Oh, nothing,” he trilled, imitating Robert.

 

“Shut up,” Robert replied without batting an eye. “Do you got any food around here?” He paused as a thought dawned and a look of unmitigated horror came over his face. “Oh, God, you’re not _cooking_ something for dinner are you?”

 

Jimmy made a face. He still claimed to be stunted from having to eat his own cooking all those years. “Fuck no. I think they left little tidbits and such around,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

 

As Robert went to graze in the kitchen, Jimmy went back to restlessly tuning a guitar he had brought into the living room. He hoped it would seem casual and cool, he had thought about adjourning to the music room after eating but it was truly a mess with guitar parts strewn about and the thought of a sharp metal bit stuck where it didn’t belong quickly turned him off to that notion.

 

He strummed idly, picking out a lonely melody as he thought about his chances tonight. He was feeling a bit more rational now than he had in his haze of anger this morning. Worst case scenario, Pete was only interested in Roger and…bystanders, and therefore would not be interested in the activities he had planned. Slightly less worse case scenario, Pete would be a tad too conventional for Jimmy’s taste and again would not be interested in _all_ the activities that he had planned. Jimmy worked through a scale forward and backward his fingers blurring, just because he could and then returned to his song. _Hmm,_ he thought, _better just hope for the best case scenario, he shows up sloshed and malleable._

 

“Earth to Jimmy,” Robert butted in, disturbing his thoughts. “Look who I found.”

 

Pete stood slightly behind Robert, shrugging off his coat and watching Jimmy with a strange expression. “That was beautiful,” he said, looking at the guitar, bemused.

 

“Oh, well,” Jimmy stammered, feeling peculiarly unsettled and at a loss for words. “I was just messing around. Here, why don’t you play?” He got up off the chair and thrust the guitar at Pete.

 

Taking the guitar gingerly, Pete glanced from man to man. Robert smiled at him encouragingly and then he caught Jimmy’s eyes and their gaze locked until Jimmy realized the level of intensity he was staring with and diverted his glance. Pete pulled the guitar strap over his head and situated the instrument with practiced ease. He began to play without another look at the two men.

 

The guitar was unexpectedly loud in the quiet room. The first strains of Pinball Wizard floated through the air and then morphed into something else. Pete frowned down at the instrument, adjusted his stance and then began to really play in earnest. He threw his head back, all self-consciousness lost in the wash of music.

 

Jimmy watched Pete play. He played like no one else Jimmy had ever seen and that included himself. He had watched himself on tapes and he played with the effortless ease of extreme technically proficiently, yes, but also with a quiet focus on the task at hand. Cerebral and deliberate.

 

Pete played like a conduit, like the force of primordial music was flowing through, using, the man and he was powerless in the face of it. The music tore out of the guitar and Pete could guide it and direct it, but he couldn’t control it, not really. Jimmy wondered if all his high and mighty philosophizing was just an after the fact attempt to rationalize whatever power he transmitted in these moments.

 

Pete’s eyes were closed, his hands wrenching sounds from the guitar that barely sounded like music, they sounded like the howl of some ancient demon. Jimmy found himself rising from his chair to adjust trousers that were becoming uncomfortably tight. He relished his arousal and swam in it until the pounding of his blood through his ears melded with the searing wail of the guitar. He barely realized he was smiling predatorily as he walked up to the other guitarist.

 

Pete’s hand faltered and came to a stop as he was wrenched out of his euphoric state by the sudden feeling of Jimmy’s erection pressed against his hip. “Umm…wha—what…” he stammered nervously as his face turned red. He shrugged free of the guitar strap and the guitar fell from his lifeless fingers in a hail of feedback.

 

The deafening silence seemed to be as right as the music had been to Jimmy. However, the unnatural stiffness with which Pete held himself now was not. He frowned. “Is he always this shy, Robert?”

 

A slow, wide smile spread across Robert’s face and he slunk out of his chair like a great, blond jungle cat. “Oh, definitely not. Do you want to hear about what he did last night?”

 

Unexpectedly, Jimmy realized that he _did_. And that Robert looked particularly…good tonight. “Yes, do tell,” he breathed right near Pete’s ear as he continued to rub himself against the other man.

 

“Well,” Robert said, nestling up close to Pete and carefully undoing his belt buckle. “First, he fucked Roger Daltrey but not before making him beg for it.” Pete had now gone white and Jimmy couldn’t quite seem to look away from Robert’s clear blue eyes.

 

“What were you doing?” he asked.

 

“I was sucking Roger off. And then Roger sucked me off. But they thought I was making too much noise…”

 

“As you do,” Jimmy interrupted mockingly.

 

Robert quirked an eyebrow at him and carefully unbuttoned and unzipped the front of Pete’s jeans. Pete nearly sobbed as Robert freed him from the confines of the trousers and began to stroke him through the soft fabric of his boxers. “Anyway,” Robert continued. “Pete made sure to shut me up by sticking his tongue down my throat.”

 

Jimmy marveled at the way Robert could use his voice and body to make a story told with such simple, crude language sound like the floweriest of poetry. “Pete must have recovered by the time all that was through,” Jimmy said and Pete twitched.

 

Robert snaked his hand past the waistband of Pete’s pants and wrapped a firm hand around him, pulling his now leaking erection free. Pete bucked into Robert’s hand and Robert ran his thumb over the tip of Pete’s cock, pushing down his foreskin and making him keen with the almost pain sensation of the touch. “Well, yes. So we took Roger together. I had his ass and Pete took his mouth. It was bloody brilliant, Jimmy.”

 

Robert’s hand was working faster now and Pete was making some of the most delicious little moans and gasps that Jimmy thought he had ever heard. “Then what?” he whispered, running his hand up under Pete’s shirt and pinching his nipple just _so_.

 

Robert’s mouth curled and he leaned forward to catch Jimmy’s mouth in a languorous kiss. He tasted like wine and smoke. He pulled away and whispered back, “I don’t know, I fell asleep. But I assume Pete let Roger fuck him. It’s what he had been wanting all night.”

 

Pete gave a wordless cry and came over Robert’s hand in pulsing spurts. Jimmy felt the new kind of tension in Pete’s body and smiled in approval even as his own body demanded attention. _Patience,_ he urged himself, _it will be worth it in the end._

 

Pete staggered slightly and looked a bit dazed as he came down from the rush of his orgasm. He glanced from Robert to Jimmy and blinked a couple times. “Did you really invite me over here to play guitar?”

 

Robert laughed and Jimmy smile a slow, wicked grin. “Jimmy’s had his eye on you, Pete,” Robert said with a mock seriousness. “He is very devious, so I don’t blame you for falling for his master plan.” Robert ran the tip of his finger down the side of Jimmy’s face, down his neck and then followed the line of his collarbone until he reached the edge of his shirt.

 

The feather-light touch send shivers racing through his skin. Pete watched the finger, nearly mesmerized. “Perce…” Jimmy warned, unsteadily, the blood pooling in his groin making him light-headed and dizzy.

 

The singer seized a handful of his shirt and pulled him in close enough for him to feel the heat rising between them. Jimmy’s crotch brushed a similarly straining bulge in Robert’s trousers and he hissed. “The thing is with Jimmy,” Robert whispered and Jimmy thrilled at the strange emotion lighting Robert’s eyes. “You can’t let him get up to his own devices.” Robert tore his gaze away from his bandmate and raised an eyebrow at Pete who had sat down heavily on a rather ornate armchair near the forgotten guitar. “Let me show you how you need to _handle_ Jimmy Page.”

 

Robert divested the both of them of their clothing with a brutal efficiency that had Jimmy wondering why he always underestimated the man’s talents in this area. Then he pushed the guitarist down to the floor. Jimmy hit his knees heavily and muffled a groan as pain lanced through his joints and into his legs. The singer glanced over at Pete who was not bothering to conceal his unguarded, lustful gaze. “Do you like to watch, Pete?” he asked, licking his lips.

 

Pete groaned and kicked off his shoes. “God, yes.”

 

Robert was sorting through his scarves and finally selected a long blue one. Realization dawned on Jimmy and a fresh surge of adrenaline raced through him. Robert flashed a smile at Pete, “Good, ‘cause you’re in for a show.”

 

Robert placed his hands on Jimmy’s shoulders and pushed him. He scooted backwards on all fours to escape the man’s force and because the wicked look on Robert’s face was making his heart race and instinctually want to escape. The vertebrae in his neck hit the edge of the chair between Pete’s legs hard but Robert was still coming towards him, relentlessly. The bigger man pressed himself against Jimmy and licked a long line up the side of his throat while forcing his arms back and around the legs of the chair.

 

He kissed the slighter guitarist and thrust his tongue into Jimmy’s mouth. Somehow, without releasing him from the kiss, Robert looped the scarf around his wrists so that he was pinned to the chair, nestled between Pete’s legs and with his shoulders straining against the restraints. He delved deeper into the kiss, the restraint making each sensation surprisingly more potent as Jimmy could concentrate on the feeling and not his own response.

 

Robert pulled away to inspect his handiwork. He looked a little too pleased with himself and so Jimmy decided to put up some token resistance.

 

“What makes you think you are going to get away with this?” he hissed between his teeth as Robert pulled the scarf tighter. The chair legs dug painfully into the crooks of his elbows and his fingers were already starting to go numb.

 

“Because you like it, you sick bastard.” Robert flicked his eyes up to meet Pete’s and then shoved Jimmy’s knees up until he was nearly bent double and his tailbone ground into the floor hard enough to bring tear to his eyes. This position was secured with a few more of Robert’s scarves.

 

 _When did he go and become so goddamn observant?_ Jimmy wondered as Robert administered a playful smack to his arse that stung enough to make him gasp, “You little shit!”

 

“Little, hmm? Well, I guess you can be the judge of that.” Robert fished around in the pile of his discarded jeans and produced a small tube of lube. He held Pete’s eyes and bit his lower lip as he slowly uncapped it and dispensed a small bead into his palm. He then began to dreamily stroke himself, posing under the twin stares of his spectators. He arched his back and moaned into his own touch, shooting wry glances at Pete from beneath his plush eyelashes.

 

Under other circumstances Jimmy would has enjoyed the show. But trussed up and achingly hard, he needed the attention to be brought back on him. “Are you going to fuck me or what?” he demanded.

 

Robert did not pause in his stroking. “See, all tied up and still issuing demands,” he informed Pete. “Let’s see if we can fix that.”

 

Without warning, Robert hitched up Jimmy’s hips higher sending fresh waves of pain through his body and positioned himself against him. He entered his unprepared bandmate in one brutal shove.

 

The pain was immediate and intense. Blinding white and searing, it raced through his body until it seemed that all of his muscles were tensing and then being torn apart simultaneously. He tried and failed to cope with the intrusion, Robert’s girth feeling ten times larger than it’s already impressive size. He dimly became aware of somebody’s rapid, shallow panting and the words _stop, stop, stop_ being chanted like some kind of injunction. _Oh, that’s me,_ he though weakly.

 

He wasn’t sure how but a soft sensation cut through the pain. Hands tangled into his hair and gently stroked his scalp. He glanced up to find Robert and Pete tangled together in a kiss that seemed more like a battle. Robert’s hair was everywhere and his hands were pushed up Pete’s shirt, pulling the other man down to him. Pete’s hands were the ones on Jimmy’s head and as Jimmy looked up the smooth plane of Robert’s chest to watch the two men, he felt his arousal smolder and intensify somewhere deep inside of him. The pain was still sharp but the heat of it merged with the burn of his desire and turned his whimpering into something else entirely.

 

Robert pulled halfway out of Jimmy and he inhaled sharply, laboring to relax in the brief window of respite. Before he could fully adapt, Robert broke away from Pete and slammed back in again. Pete’s hands snaked down the sides of his neck and down his back. Robert hit his prostate and once more lights burst in his brain.

 

“Fuck!” he gasped as Robert thrust again, his rhythm just uneven enough that Jimmy couldn’t quite acclimatize.

 

“Steady on, mate,” Robert soothed, his voice hitching as he fought to catch his breath. “God, you feel good. You can take more, can’t you? I don’t want to permanently damage you.”

 

Robert was far too coherent. Jimmy shifted as much as possible and clenched certain muscles. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he hissed.

 

“Ughh—fuck…” Robert huffed and pumped his hips roughly. “What was that?! Jesus, Jimmy, you are such a slut.”

 

A bark of laughter escaped him only to end in a grunt of surprise as Robert shifted and reentered at a different angle and shoved him harder against the chair. “Well, that’s the pot and the kettle and all.”

 

Robert licked his lips and glanced up at Pete. “He shouldn’t be so sarcastic at this point, dontcha think?”

 

“Fuck him harder,” Pete said, his voice high and imperative.

 

The words shot straight to his cock and made his balls ache more, if possible. They seemed to have the same effect on Robert who finally adopted a rhythm and stuck to it, his knees scrambling for purchase on the floor as he speed up.

 

The rhythm and Robert’s stomach grazing his cock were combining to push him to the edge. “I—I’m going to…” he managed to choke out.

 

Robert didn’t falter but his hand shot down in between them. “Oh, no you don’t! Not fucking yet.” He grabbed Jimmy’s balls tightly at the base and pulled them firmly. Jimmy felt like a corked up geyser.

 

Robert couldn’t last much longer himself. He threw himself forward and laid his head on Pete’s lap as he gave his final thrusts into Jimmy’s bound and helpless body. “Ahh…I—I can’t…I’m going to…” he moaned into Pete’s thigh.

 

A final thrust rocked Jimmy into the air completely and bent him in two. He gritted his teeth and winced as his shoulders and elbow screamed from the strain. Robert came with an earsplitting shriek and the spasms of his cock felt like they were tearing Jimmy apart from the inside.

 

Once he came down from the orgasm, Robert pulled the scarves on Jimmy’s legs free and tumbled away from him onto the floor. Jimmy cried out as Robert’s cock tore away from him, the sensation more disturbing than painful.

 

Pushing himself more upright against the chair, his heels shoving against the carpet while he tried to work some feeling back into his legs, Jimmy watched Pete warily as he got up from his seat and came to kneel in front of the other guitarist, cock hard again and weeping.

 

“What are you going to do?” he inquired. Robert watched the two of them with heavily lidded eyes that still containing a spark of arousal.

 

“That depends on how much force you are comfortable with.”

 

Unblinking, he stared at Pete. The other man’s expression was unreadable but for a glint in his eye and a faith smirk barely touching the edges of his lips. “A surprising amount, actually,” he replied, hiding the triumph he felt from coloring his voice.

 

Shivers ran across the surface of his skin as Pete lightly raked his fingernails down the inside of Jimmy’s thighs. He gently pushed the other man’s legs apart while continuing to caress him. While he didn’t feel anything close to sleepy, Jimmy couldn’t help but relax deeply into Pete’s touch.

 

His hands moved lower. Pete probed Jimmy’s entrance with one long finger, finding him loose and slick with Robert’s come. Jimmy tried to shift away from him as the area was painfully sensitive but Pete withdrew his hand on his own accord and then raised it, holding Jimmy’s eyes. He put the finger into his mouth and leisurely sucked it clean. It was one of the hottest things Jimmy had ever seen. “Oh…please…” he begged.

 

“Well, that’s a start, but we are going to need you to be a lot more specific.” Pete shifted and carefully straddled the other guitarist, rubbing his erection against Jimmy’s chest in a couple of involuntary thrusts.

 

“Wh—what?” he stammered, finding that with all the blood rushing about in his body he couldn’t quite think clearly.

 

Without warning and before he could even blink, Pete plunged his cock into Jimmy’s open mouth, forcing him to take Pete’s entire length all at once. He held it there and waited until Jimmy’s eyes flicked up to meet his.

 

“You are going to beg me to come all over you, you dirty slut.” Pete growled.

 

Jimmy fought his gag reflex but in the end couldn’t prevent a violent coughing and choking fit. Pete smiled with bliss as the contractions of Jimmy’s throat enveloped him and he leaned deeper into the penetration. Jimmy managed to open his eyes and caught a glimpse of Robert’s curls around the side of Pete’s body.

 

However, Pete was unprepared and jumped as Robert began to lustily and thoroughly rim him, driving his cock deeper into Jimmy. He could just see one of Robert’s hands on Pete’s hips and the other wrapped around his own erection and moving with practiced ease.

 

Jimmy was really starting to need fresh air. His throat worked in a futile attempt to get air or expel the foreign body. But despite all this, his erection hadn’t flagged at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.

 

Pete ripped himself away. Jimmy almost forgot to inhale and got half of a gulp of air in before Pete commanded, “That’s enough!” He pushed in again. “I didn’t hear any begging.”

 

His focus narrowed down to a tunnel consisting only of the burn in his lungs, the animal smell of Pete and the little sounds Robert was making as he fucked Pete with his tongue and worked himself. Sounds that when combined with the aforementioned sensations were strangely arousing. Not that he needed any help in that area. The lack of oxygen conversely seemed to be heightening his sense of touch. Robert grazed his foot with a stray hand and he jerked against his bonds. He thought that if anyone where to touch his cock at this moment, he would simply explode from the intensity of the sensation.

 

Pete pushed deeper with a few staccato thrusts. He pulled out just as Jimmy couldn’t quite see anything anymore from the black haze over his vision. “We can go on like this for a while until I hear you confess. I’ve got all night.”

 

“Please!” he rasped, knowing that he couldn’t take very much more. “Please come on me.”

 

Pete forced himself back down Jimmy’s throat and he could just hear the sound of Robert moaning over the roaring in his ears. “Say my name,” Pete hissed, pumping a few more times before pulling out.

 

“For bloody fuck’s sake, come for me, Peter Townshend!” he screamed hoarsely, trying to talk while getting as much air as possible into his aching lungs. Pete collapsed on top of him and the chair and forced himself down Jimmy’s throat with a set of jerkily irregular thrusts. His orgasm built slowly and he stilled as the first few throbs were poured into the other man. The heat and pressure enveloped Jimmy and he nearly forgot about needing to breathe.

 

“Ah… _yes_!” Pete moaned.

 

Pete pulled away at the last moment just as the blackness was closing in and Jimmy thought he was going to pass out this time for sure. The final pulse of Pete’s completion spurted out and onto Jimmy’s face. The sight of it coupled with the rush of oxygen to his brain had him feeling delirious. He panted and wondered about hyperventilation.

 

“Oh, _God!_ ” Robert cried, leaning around Pete to see and then he came hunched over his hand, his forehead pressed to the small of Pete’s back. “Oh, God,” he repeated and then slouched down to the floor and his eyes fluttered closed. After a few seconds, he was to all appearances dead to the world.

 

“Does he always pass out like that?” Pete asked, breathing hard, after taking a moment to recover himself and sitting back on Jimmy’s lap.

 

“Only if you are really lucky.” Jimmy rolled his eyes and trying opening and closing his mouth to work out some of the stiffness in his jaw. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal. “Now untie me and we can adjourn to the bedroom. I rather think it’s my turn.”

 

Pete smirked at him and just barely grazed his hand over Jimmy’s nearly purple cock. “I really don’t think you are in any position to be making demands.”

 

“Oh, aren’t you a bloody clever one, Townshend. Ready to take a nap with Robert? I thought more of your stamina, you know.”

 

Pete simply laughed and unfastened the scarves. As they loosened, Jimmy felt the blood rush to head and he fell over on his side from the sudden lightheadedness that hazed his vision. Pete grabbed his limp hands and hoisted him to his feet. They stumbled into the bedroom, Jimmy’s strength returning quickly as his cock reminded him that they had both been waiting a bloody long time, thank you very much.

 

Jimmy shoved Pete down on the bed and collapsed half on top of him. _I am finished with games and finesse,_ he thought ruthlessly, _I need this and I want it now._ Jimmy spat on his hand and started working a finger into the other man. _God, he’s tense_ , he considered and nearly growled with impatience.

 

“No…ah, just do it,” Pete managed to get out.

 

Jimmy paused in surprise and then mentally beamed with satisfaction. _I knew this was a good idea._ “Are you sure?”

 

“Bloody hell, just fuck me already, you cunt!”

 

“Well, since you ask so nicely.”

 

Jimmy slicked his cock with another application of saliva and tried to ignore the feeling of his own hand. He spread Pete with one hand and positioned himself with the other. He sank into the other man with nearly hysterical relief. _Finally_. He could see Pete struggling and failing to adjust to the intrusion and knew from the rigidity of his muscles that it must hurt like a motherfucker. Jimmy raked his nails down Pete’s back to give him another sensation to concentrate on and stop fighting his cock.

 

Pete cried out as Jimmy pulled nearly all the way out and started again. This time he shifted his angle and pushed in further and Pete relaxed. Now Jimmy could really start to move and give the other man a proper fucking.

 

As he got him used to a faster rhythm, Jimmy leaned forward and seized Pete’s neck in a series of deep, sucking kisses that would leave bruises. Pete moaned and pushed up into him. Jimmy continued to lavish licks and sucks and kisses on Pete’s back, never quite crossing from comfort to hurt.

 

Just when Pete was getting a little too at ease with the situation, Jimmy threaded his hands into Pete’s hair, right at the root and held on tightly. He pulled with every thrust, knowing that the deep pain of it would melt into the throbbing pleasure of having his prostate hit repeatedly until the two sensations were indistinguishable. At first this would frighten the other man. Then he would enjoy it.

 

“Ah…please…” Jimmy watched with fascination as the muscles jumped in Pete’s back and he threw his head back to escape the tension on his scalp. Jimmy tightened his grasp and angled down with a particularly vigorous push. “Oh, God…” Pete panted. “Ah…st—stop.”

 

Jimmy bent forward until he could feel the sweat-soaked lean lines of the man burned into his skin. He pressed his lips to Pete’s ear and tugged his earlobe gently, caressing the skin with his tongue. Pete lapsed into silence, punctuated with sobbing gasps. “What was that, Townshend? I didn’t quite catch it,” he husked throatily. He twisted the damp hair between his fingers one excruciating wind around and watched Pete swallow, his throat bared under the strain.

 

“Fu—fuck! Don’t stop! Please don’t stop.” The words came in a gasping rush and Pete threw himself backward, impaling himself more deeply on Jimmy’s cock.

 

Jimmy started laughing and built up his rhythm. Moments before he felt his release swell past the point of no return, he released his grip on the other man’s hair, knowing full well the rush of blood and heat to the area would feel nearly euphoric. He moved one hand to Pete’s cock and worked it nimbly but roughly.

 

Pete cried out from the intensity of the sensation and in surprise as his third orgasm hit him in waves of dry spasms. The feel of him in his hand was enough to finish Jimmy and he collapsed in rare freedom from self-control as his completion thundered down through his body in dark crimson waves.

 

As the blackness crested over him and he could quite seem to catch his breath, he suddenly understood Robert’s post-coital coma. He had just enough self-possession to role away from the other man before surrendering to blissful unconsciousness.

 

***

 

Something was making a god-awful noise. He tried to hold on to the comforting haze of sleep but the noise dragged him back up into wakefulness. Gradually, he realized the noise was the phone on the nightstand, insistently ringing.

 

“Somebody answer the bloody phone,” he growled. _What is all over my face?!_ He shoved the mass off of him, belatedly recognizing it as Robert’s hair. The other man was half-sprawled on top of him and must have grown tired of the floor where they had left him at some point in the night. He felt a weigh shift on the bed and then heard the stumbling footsteps of someone getting out of bed and walking around until they reached the phone ringing directly in the guitarist’s ear.

 

Blissful silence was interrupted by the groggy sound of Pete’s voice saying, “Hello?”

 

In the stillness, Jimmy could just make out the tinny words of the reply in what sounded like Roger Daltrey’s voice. “…Pete? What are you doing answering Jimmy Page’s phone?”

 

“What are you doing calling Jimmy Page?” Pete replied with reflexive defensiveness.

 

“I?! I was looking for you because we were supposed to have rehearsals for our next tour tonight as you have so obviously forgotten and Karen said you had gone over to Page’s about some guitar thing.”

 

“Oh, shit. Look, Roger, I’m sorry, I completely forgot.” Pete rubbed a hand over his face and peered at his watch. Jimmy watched him quietly.

 

“Are you sober?” Roger asked with a note of incredulity in his voice.

 

Robert stirred sleepily and half-sat up. “Pete? What are you doing on the phone? Come back to bed.” He waved a hand imperiously and Jimmy buried his face in his arms in wonder at Robert’s sense of timing.

 

There was a pause at the other end of the line. “—was that Robert?!”

 

“Listen, Roger, I can explain.”

 

“Oh, no. I really think the picture is quite clear enough. Thank you.” Roger hung up abruptly and the room filled with the buzzing of the lost connection.

 

Pete stared at the receiver in his hand and carefully did not look at the two men in bed staring at him. “Fuck.”

 

***


End file.
